Lullaby
by Thobbit
Summary: Castiel, being an angel of the Lord, can of course do the whole "sweetly singing o'er the plains" thing. Dean discovers this when he has the flu. Destiel as fluffy as it's possible to be without breaking character.


_A/N: Inspired/prompted by the lovely Musiclovesbest, who "drag[ged] Sam out to do kicked puppy dog face" to make me write more fluffy Destiel. I had the plot bunny already, but the combination of the kind request and coincidence of her username solidified my resolve to actually get it written and published. The point of all this is that __reviews really are a force for good, and I love them very much!_

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**Lullaby**

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Dean woke up slowly, head aching like a...something clever that he'd think of if his head didn't hurt. He was also, he found, covered in blankets, which was weird, because usually when he woke up in pain, things were less...cushion-y.

And someone was singing softly, possibly the best rendition of "Stairway to Heaven" that he'd ever heard, and that included the original album. It was a sweet baritone, low and gravelly and...instantly recognizable.

"Cas?" Dean asked muzzily, opening his eyes and pushing himself to a sitting position. Damn but his nose was stuffed. Hadn't noticed that, lying down. It explained the headache at least – maybe he shouldn't have tried to push through that flu. Apparently, it pushed back. Judging from the lack of light outside the picture window, he'd been asleep for about four hours longer than he'd intended.

The singing stopped broke off as Cas jumped up from his armchair and joined Dean on the sofa. "Dean! You're awake!" The angel put his fingers on Dean's forehead and Dean braced himself to be put back to sleep – because he was to achey to put up much of a fight – but instead Cas just frowned. "You still have a fever. 101..." He leaned down and pressed his own forehead against Dean's. "101.6. You should go back to sleep."

He looked so concerned that Dean nearly sank back and obliged of his own free will, until his natural dislike of being babied kicked in and he pushed Cas away, and tried to do the same to the blankets. "Get out of my face, Cas, or you'll catch it, too." He coughed, for emphasis, not that it was entirely intentional.

Cas backed off, but held the blankets firmly down. "I don't believe I can. But you are ill. You need to rest."

Dean groaned in exasperation and lay back. "Why don't you just poof me better?"

"I would," Cas replied instantly. "But we are trying not to draw attention, and I am not fully powered, and viruses are surprisingly difficult to combat. But if you would prefer-" He raised a hand towards Dean's forehead again, but Dean pushed it back.

"Nah, save it for something important. Demons or something. I've had the flu before." He sat up again, dodging Cas's efforts to push him back by reaching for the roll of toilet paper set conveniently on the coffee table and ripping off a piece, getting it to his face just in time to sneeze explosively. Geez, this was a crappy flu.

Cas's deep blue eyes followed his movements anxiously. "Is that the correct material? I understood that it was meant to be small squares, but Sam insisted a roll would be correct."

"Yeah, it's fine," grunted Dean, blowing a couple more times for efficiency's sake.

"I thought of the blankets myself."

"Thanks," Dean said absently. He tossed the used tissue-thing into the also-conveniently-placed small trash can and met Cas's gaze coming the other direction, a blend of sympathy and concern and affection that just possibly melted him a bit. Probably the fever kicking in. "Thanks, Cas."

The angel's face broke into a slight proud smile that completed any melting left to be done in Dean's heart. Hastily, he edged away from the chick flick moment. "I didn't know you could sing. That was pretty good."

Cas smiled, if possible, more beatifically. "Thank you, Dean," he replied in that same gravelly, sexy (_shut _**_up!_** Dean ordered his the back of his brain) voice. "I wish you could hear my true voice, when not restricted by...this." His gesture seemed to take in vocal chords, vessel, and possibly the entire planet. "The choirs of Heaven are great to behold." His eyes darkened abruptly and he looked sideways. "Were."

No, no no, they'd gotten over that. Ages ago. Dammit, _Dean_ had. "Well I think you're a pretty fantastic solo act. You should sing more. I could teach you how to play guitar - strings are strings, right, harps or guitars? I bet you'd be great."

"Only if you rest now," insisted Cas, returning neatly to the original argument.

"Fine," grumbled Dean. He put his head back on the couch pillow and pulled the blanket up to his chin. It was actually pretty comfortable. He yawned. "Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?" answered the angel, attentive as always.

Dean looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Could you keep singing?"

"Of course, Dean."

"You know 'Hey Jude'?"

Cas hummed a couple dulcet bars. "This song?"

"Yeah" Dean closed his eyes and burrowed deeper into the blanket, smiling drowsily as Cas started the lullaby. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all, being watched over by an angel.


End file.
